


Trust Us

by taylor_tut



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Barton & Tony Stark Friendship, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Not that much comfort though, Protective Clint Barton, Tony Stark Has Issues, Whump, injured Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 07:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20523866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: A fic for a friend on tumblr! Tony is shot in battle and doesn't tell anyone. Clint steps in to help him out even if it interrupts his birthday plans.





	Trust Us

Tony had been hit from behind by a surprise attack before he'd had time to suit up. The laser had hit him in the shoulder and before he'd had time to even register that he'd been injured, his suit was activating automatically and the rest of the Avengers were leaping into action. They'd intended for this to just be a casual get-together, something that they tried to do about once per month if everybody was in town, and this month, they'd been lucky enough to all be around near Clint's birthday. If he wasn't able to spend it with his kids because of official SHIELD business that he wasn't allowed to talk about, then getting piss-drunk with the Avengers was a close second. 

The battle had been short enough and had wrecked surprisingly little. Though Clint knew that really, as long as they defeated the enemy and minimized or prevented civilian deaths, that it was technically a victory, but he always dreaded the aftermath of big battles because they usually meant that the press and the public were going to harp on the collateral damages that came with saving the city. 

Everyone was a critic.

Well, a few busted shop windows aside and one fire hydrant that the city needed to come and manually shut off, this fight had been blessedly calm enough that he figured that they would be able to head right into the celebration afterward after a quick trip by Stark Tower for a change of clothes, a ride to which Stark's driver Happy had been quick to provide. 

With everyone so chatty and jovial, Clint, ever perceptive, was the only person who seemed to notice (though he was sure that Natasha likely did and just wasn't going to say anything) how quiet Tony was during the car ride. When Clint pointed that out to him, he would snap worryingly easily into his normal self, that haughty persona that Clint was so used to seeing on that sometimes he forgot that Tony didn't just sleep in the mask. It required effort, one that Clint wasn't going to force him to exert when he replied that he was simply tired from being up all night and needed a cup of coffee before they went out for beers. 

By the coffee machine, the special one in Tony's lab that brewed the drip stuff instead of the Kuerig that he'd put in the kitchen for everyone else to share, was where Clint found him about half an hour after they'd gotten back to the tower and everyone had dispersed. Tony was sitting in his chair, his chin resting on one hand, and didn't look up when Clint entered the lab. In fact, he was so in his own world that Clint immediately deduced that he'd started working on something. 

"Hey, Stark," he called. "Are you coming to the bar tonight, or did you get caught up in that big genius brain of yours again?"

Tony blinked sluggishly at him looking more tired and pale than Clint was used to seeing him. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Yikes," Clint winced. "I meant that you looked like you were busy and I was going to give you hell for bailing on us, but I think I'm gonna just bite my tongue on that. You look exhausted."

Tony nodded, pulling his black, long-sleeved t-shirt tight around himself like he was cold despite the comfortable, if not a little stuffy, temperature of the lab. 

"'Course I'm going," Tony argued. "Your birthday. Wouldn't miss it." Clint took few steps into the lab to stand next to Tony, realizing with dread that he hadn't even brewed coffee at all, but rather had run just water through the filter and was drinking it hot and probably bitter with the ghost of old coffee residue from the machine. 

"Seriously, we can do it another night, Stark," Clint offered. "We WILL do it another night, probably in a few weeks. If you want to skip tonight and just go to bed, we'd understand." 

Tony stood gingerly and shook his head, swaying on his feet slightly as he got his bearings. 

"Stop worrying," Tony chastized. "I'm ready to party. I've needed this, too."

"Who's worrying? I'm just suggesting you, I don't know, take a nap?"

When Tony swayed forward again, it was so drastic that he didn't look like he was going to right himself this time, so Clint instinctively reached out to steady him by the shoulders and frowned. "You're shaking, Tony."

"What can I say; your touch is electrifying."

It took everything in him to resist the urge to roll his eyes, opting instead to shove him back into the chair. That took alarmingly little effort, and when Tony was finally sitting without resistance, Clint’s attention was drawn to the fact that the palm of one hand was stained red with blood. His black shirt had hidden the damage, but now that Clint knew it was there, he could see the way it clung wetly to Tony's body. 

“Tony?” 

Tony blinked a few times like he was trying to see through a thick fog, then touched his shoulder, winced, and looked at his hand with very little emotion. 

“Oh, yeah. Got shot.”

Clint’s jaw dropped. “That isn’t an, ‘oh, yeah,’ revelation, Tony! That’s something you tell somebody when it happens!”

“We were busy.”

“Yeah, which is why we needed to know. What if you’d passed out in the battle?”

“But I didn’t. Friday would have told me if my vitals dropped that much.” 

“Okay, I’ll give you that. But what would you have done if I hadn’t come down here after you? Would you have just sat at your bench and bled until you were unconscious?”

Tony didn't argue; couldn't argue because it was true. It was true and it was a pattern: he swore up and down that he could handle a situation until it chewed him up and spat him out, always worse for wear.

“Why don't you trust us?”

Tony's mouth opened and shut like a trout for a moment before he closed tired eyes and massaged his forehead. Clint knew better than to push him like this--he'd only piss Tony off, and then he'd miss his chance to bring it up again.

“Okay, that's a conversation for a time when you're not bleeding out. Let's get you to medical. I'll even sneak you past Steve so you don't have to hear the lecture.”

“You're--no, Clint, come on. Happy can take me to medical. Go enjoy your birthday.”

Clint sighed. “I'd rather make sure you get there in one piece.”

Tony looked ashamed. “Look, I'm sorry I was stupid and got hurt, but you don't have to--”

“Wait, do you think I'm mad because you got hit?” Tony's silence spoke volumes. “Do you think we're mad EVERY time you get hit? Is that why you avoid medical?”

Tony looked pointedly at the floor. “Well, aren't you?”

“Holy shit,” Clint murmured. “That… Should have been obvious. Okay. Well, we can have that talk, too, but stitches come first.” 

Tony followed him, leaning heavily against Clint’s side. While not exactly how he would have chosen to spend his birthday, this was certainly more important, and he was happy to do it if someone had to, and clearly, no one had. 

“You're gonna be okay, Tones,” he reassured himself more than the twilight-conscious Tony. But he meant it sincerely. He'd make sure of it. 


End file.
